No Idea
by kcat1971
Summary: [Transitions Story #13 This one can be skipped.] Josh discovers something about Donna. (October 2008) TRIGGER WARNING: Abuse. If something about this story makes you feel like you need help please call 1-800-799-7233.
1. The Trigger

I'm sitting on the couch in my office. My wife is sitting on my lap. Shaking. Uncontrollably. My arms are wrapped around her. Her head is buried in my chest and I can feel my shirt dampening from her tears. I hold her a little tighter and try to figure out what the hell just happened.

About ten minutes ago I had been looking out my windown onto the South Lawn. My head was pounding because I just went another 3 rounds with Matt over the AVAWA. I'm so frustrated. I know we want the same thing. But with this rider attached, I have political concerns about him signing this bill.

Suddenly my door had burst open and Donna had screamed at me, which is so not like her.

"How could you do this? YOU HAVE NO IDEA!"

I whirled around and growled- "Donna, I swear to GOD, I'm gonna..." but as I moved toward her whatI was going to say died on my lips, as she went completely pale. Her eyes locked with mine. The look in them unfathomable. She was shaking so hard she could barely stand.

All at once it hit me like a physical blow to my chest. I scared her. Not just scared her. Terrified. The look in her eyes was pure terror.

"Donna?" I whispered. Her breath was coming out in shallow gasps. I tried again. "Donna?"

It felt like we stood staring at each other for hours instead of a just a few seconds.

"Josh?" The word barely passed her lips. I have never heard her say my name with so much uncertainty.

The terror in her eyes began to be replaced by confusion. It is almost like for that split second she really didn't know who I am.

Still whispering, I asked if I could hold her. With her slight nod, I slowly acrossed the few feet separating us. I gently put my arms around her. Almost imperceptibly she stiffensed for a moment, then latched on. I don't know how it's possible but the shaking actually seemed to get worse.

When I suggested we sit on the couch, I felt the slightest nod against my chest but no slackening of her death grip on me.

Finally, I'd had to say "I'm going to pick you up, okay?" I kept my voice gentle. Again the smallest movement of her head gave me permission.

So here, I sit.

Then the realization dawns on me, sometime, somewhere, someone hurt my Donna. Hurt her! Hurt her badly enough to cause this reaction. It makes me shake too.

I continue to rub her back, softly whispering "I love you. I love you. I love you."

But my mind is racing now. Sorting through suspects. Who could have done this?! I kept a pretty close eye on the Gomers in D.C. It doesn't take long for my thoughts to land on the likely culprit.

Dr. Freeride. Even though she's never told me his real name, I have his information. I am quite certain that I could arrange his death. And, right now, I'm strongly considering it.

Donna has finally stopped shaking. That realization pulls me out of my murderous thoughts. I continue to rub her back and say "I'm sorry I scared you. Can we talk about this?"

She takes a deep breath and lets it out. For a minute she doesn't say anything. I'm not sure she will. I don't want to push her. And part of me doesn't want my suspicions confirmed. But another part of me needs to know.

Finally, she says very quietly. "It wasn't you."

She still isn't looking at me. I need to see her eyes. But I wait. Not patiently. But I wait.

Another sigh. She pushes back from me and looks up. The pain in her eyes shoots straight to my gut. If I am feeling this way just based on my suspicion, I can only imagine how she feels.

"It was a long time ago. But the way you said it just now, sounded like the way he used to. . . . And whenever he said it. . . I usually ended up with bruises."

Oh god. I want to kill him. "Dr. Freeride?"

"Yes."

"When you came to Manchester?"

"There was a reason I was wearing long sleeves."

I'm shaking again. And now she's rubbing my arm. Wait. She's comforting me? My head is going to explode.

"I don't suppose there is any way you'll tell me his real name?"

"No." She said it quietly. But with absolute conviction. It's like we both know that if she tells me who he is, I'll have permission to retaliate.

I'm not really sure what to say. Basically, she's just told me that I reminded her of him. I feel sick.

"Donna... I would never. . ." It kills me to ask her this but I have to know.

"Did you think I was going to...?

"No." Again quiet but with absolute conviction.

"I've never not felt safe with you." But she looks away. Oh my god. She's lying to me. Of course she is. I just witnessed her terror. But has it happened before without me noticing? I really might vomit.

"Donna?" I ask in the calmest voice possible. "Donna, please."

She looks up again. There are unshed tears in her eyes. Slowly, she begins...

"Once. Only for a second. The Diary."

Now she's speaking faster, " I had screwed up so bad. I didn't want to tell you but I knew you'd take care of it. Then we were in your office. . . ."

"I yelled at you."

"You had every right. I screwed up."

"Donna. no. god. . . . you thought I'd hurt you?"

"No. But there was a moment. . . . There was just a hardness in your voice. You had never used that tone against me. And for just a moment- fear shot through me. I knew, Josh, I knew you wouldn't physically hurt me. But I thought I had ruined us. And that hurt way more than any bruises."

I close my eyes. I failed her.

"Josh. Look at me." I open my eyes again.

"You got over that moment of anger. You took care of the problem. You comforted me. You didn't do anything wrong. You didn't fail me. Hell, you didn't even read my diary. You know what. That was the worst thing about it. Cliff..." She says his name with disgust, "Cliff got to read my diary, and you didn't. You knew what was in it, right?"

I look deep into her eyes. Yes. I knew. "Us."

"That's right. That moment didn't destroy us. And this one won't either."

With that I see that My Donna is fully back. I'm still shaken to my core. But she's recovered.

"Now" She says- "like I came in here to tell you... the President HAS to sign the Anti-Violence Against Women Act."


	2. Recollections 1

[A/N: Please see updated summary for Trigger Warning.]

I'm laying in bed awake. Her head is on my chest and she's molded into my side. From her breathing I can tell that she's out. My hand is making a circuit smoothing her hair from the top of her head and down her shoulder. The comforting familiarity of the rhythm is so soothing, I barely recognize that I'm doing it. I still haven't gotten our encounter in my office out of my head. It's been well over a decade since she was with Dr. Freeride- but the thought of him abusing her makes me sick to my stomach. I'm also feeling kind of guilty because how could I not know this before now? I don't want to think about what he might have actually done to her, instead I decide to try to catalog anything that should have given me a clue about her past. Maybe there were signs over the years and I missed them.

I start at the beginning. The day she hired herself. She was so confident, until I mentioned her boyfriend breaking up with her. I had picked up a slightly wounded vibe then. Truthfully, it's probably part of the reason why I'd hired her. I like to fix things. I hadn't thought she was broken, just that she needed to start over. And I'd admired that. She was beautiful, smart, and quirky. I liked her. She fit so well with the campaign. She seemed to thrive on the hectic pace, the loudness of it. Even from the start, I frequently bellowed her name. Did she she flinch each time? I don't remember. I do remember also enjoying the quiet times, working in my office after the others had all gone. I was baffled when she left and surprised at how much I missed her.

I also remember her limping back to me- literally. She'd told me then that she had slipped on some ice- a late thaw in early April. I hadn't questioned her story. I was just thrilled to have her back. Years later, she'd said it was actually a car accident that caused her injury and reluctantly she told me that Dr. Freeride had been drinking and hadn't taken care of her. I remember how hearing about a long past car accident had caused me concern for her, and that I was angry, but some what relieved, that Dr. Freeride had dropped the ball, because that's what brought her back to me. But now I wonder if that was the whole story. I try to stop my mind from imagining that there hadn't been a car accident at all and that he'd done something intentionally that had caused her injury.

I go back to trying to think of only the things I'd seen myself over the years. Were there other signs? I realize that I have seen her flinch more times than I'd like to admit, but I can't grasp anything enough to analyze it, except for one. The Diary incident. Over the years I've really tried not to think about it, even though it was a defining moment for us.

Up until Rosslyn, I had never really examined my feelings for Donna. Any feelings of attraction were forced solidly into a friend/mentor catagory. She was my assistant, and I would never sleep with my assistant. I'm just not that kind of guy. After Rosslyn, I knew I loved her but I didn't consider it romantic. Really there was nothing romantic about the way she'd taken care of me. I recognized that a large part of my feelings were gratitude for literally saving my life. From then on I thought of her as "best friend." I continued to refuse to consider any other possibility. I was physically attracted enough to Amy, who was my age and so very different from Donna, that I mostly convinced myself that being attracted to Amy proved that my feelings for Donna were platonic, even if I did sabatoge all of Donna's dates. As her best friend, I didn't want her dating Gomers.

I think I surprised us both at how strongly I reacted when she told me about the two dates with Cliff. I justified it by claiming he was the enemy- we were in direct conflict. And that was true, but really my reaction was largely because it was the first time that her dating felt like she was cheating on me. First, it bothered me that she had gone out with someone and it hadn't been on my radar. Second, Cliff wasn't actually a Gomer. Except for the fact that he was a republican, he was a decent guy. Still, I had spoken sharply to her and sent her home. It created tension between us for quite a while.

I still remember every detail of what happened after she got back from testifying before the committee. I had been on edge the whole day. The look on her face when she came back and walked into my office- I knew something had happened but I never expected her admission that she'd lied. I'd yelled at her. She'd flinched and taken a step away from me. I hadn't noticed it at the time but now as I replay it in my head my stomach clenches and my heart hurts because even though she claims that she's never feared me physically, back then her brain had warned her body that she was in danger and she had moved out of striking distance.

My hand makes another circuit over her head and arm. It soothes me a little. I know that there was no way I would ever hit her- not then, not now. I know that if I woke her up and asked, she would say the same thing without hesitation. But back then, she hadn't known it enough in her soul to avoid the subconscious way her body had reacted. And damn it, I'd been angry enough not to notice her reaction. And I'd been too self-centered to offer her comfort over the fact that she'd had to testify at all. Instead, I'd sent her back to her desk so I could think about how to solve the problem of her false testimony. I'd only been focused on the possible fallout from her lie and the possible solutions.

I remember when I'd finally realized that I'd missed part of the problem. Cliff was in the coffee shop reading while Donna and I sat on a bench. She was so quiet, so frozen. She looked so scared. I told her everything would be fine and I made a vow to myself that I would protect her. At one point, I started to put my arm around her and she'd flinched. That time I had noticed. It was the moment I had decided that I wasn't going to leave her alone that night. Something about the look on her face had reminded me of how I'd felt when I'd put my hand through a window. The though of her hurting herself made me sick and any residual anger had completely evaporated. It didn't matter to me how we ended up on the bench, it only mattered that she was safe when it was over.

When Cliff came back with the diary, she still hadn't moved. He looked at her for a few minutes. Then he'd said "She really is special." He told me that he genuinely liked her but that under the circumstances they had no chance. At the time, I had assumed that the circumstances he referred to was the hearing- but now I think it's because he knew more about her feelings for me than I did. He also said "There's nothing related to the MS in here. I won't put her through the embarrassment of having a bunch of old men read her private thoughts just to score cheap political points." But he warned me that there was a chance someone else could pick up on the fact that he'd had the question read back. Then he'd said something that stunned me- "My recommendation is that you burn it. IF the question comes up again, walk it back by having her say- 'I used to keep a journal but I haven't in quite a while.'" I don't know why I had trusted Cliff enough to let him read the diary to begin with, but that he'd go that far was a testament to Donna. Cliff really was a decent guy. His final words were "You'll take care of her right?" And I had promised that I would.

When I walked back to the bench she looked up at me with scared, sad eyes. I told her that Cliff was not going to subpoena the diary but she didn't really look relieved. I took her hand, which was ice cold and trembling, and then I lead her back to my car. She said nothing as I drove back to my apartment. When we got there she'd looked at me with questioning eyes, but still said nothing. It was completely unnerving. I had never heard her go so long without speaking.

Once we were inside my apartment, I went to the kitchen, filled a mug with water and put it in the microwave. When I came back to the living room, she was still standing in the same spot. I'd tried to lighten the mood, but instead of jovial my tone had come out frustrated when I'd said- "Good grief, take your coat off!" Her eyes had widened and her chest heaved, but she'd obeyed and her fingers had started to fumble with the buttons on her coat. I remember watching her tremble while she tried to get it off and suddenly being more scared than before. The diary issue was resolved, but Donna still wasn't okay. I had walked up to her slowly and spoke softly-

"Hey its going to be okay. Really." I gently helped her with her coat then I lead her over to a chair. "Sit down." I grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch and put it over her, then I went back to the kitchen and added a tea bag to the mug.

When I brought the tea to Donna, she was still where I had left her. I gave her the tea and she watched me until I sat on the couch across from her. Then she held the mug in her hands and looked at it, not making eye contact with me. I sighed and started to get up, and I remember now how her eyes had suddenly flashed up to see what I was doing. At the time, I was so confused by her behavior. I had no idea why she was still so frightened. It hadn't occurred to me that she could have been scared of me. But now looking back I realize that she had exhibited classic behavior- she'd not spoken unless I asked her a direct question, she'd done everything I told her to and nothing if I hadn't and she'd stayed out of my reach as much as possible.

My eyes fill with tears and my hand continues its soothing journey over her head and arm. Thank God she is here in my arms now. This woman is amazing. She has show it to me in so many ways, including the one sleeping in the room next to us. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that she had dealt with something horrific and overcome it on her own. But I wonder if I would have done something different back then if I'd known the demons she was battling. Instead, I think about how I had handled it and hope that I'd done the right thing.

I had paused when she had looked up at me. I couldn't read her eyes. I still couldn't understand what was happening. But I'd spoke softly to her-

"Donna- I'm starting to worry that you are in shock or something. Maybe a hot bath would help. Would you like that?" She had nodded silently but I'd felt like she might be starting to come around.

"Drink your tea, okay? I'll go get the bath ready." I'd still had some lavender baby bath stuff in my closet. I'd never have admitted it at the time but she'd hooked me on the stuff during my recovery. I showered with it fairly often. It was soothing and she had definitely needed soothing. I'd laid out a sweatshirt and pajama pants so she had something comfortable to change into.

When I'd come back out to the living room the tea mug was empty and her head was laid back against the chair. Her eyes were closed. I'd thought she was asleep. I felt such a longing to touch her, so I'd walked over and started to brush the hair off her face. She'd startled and immediately started shaking and my heart had stopped. That was the moment I'd realized that she might be scared of what I was going to do, but it still never occurred to my that she was scared of physical retribution. I thought she might be worried about her job. In hindsight I don't know why I had thought she'd have such a reaction to possibly being fired except that my job was the most important thing to me up until then. Once again, I reacted by speaking softly to her. I told her that the bath was ready and that we'd talk after she was done.

She'd only taken 15 minutes in the bath. I remember being surprised at the time. I hadn't had any experience with a woman taking a bath in my apartment but I thought baths generally lasted longer. Now I think it probably wasn't relaxing for her- she was scared, had no idea what my motives were, and was probably worried about getting fired. I also remember what she looked like when she walked back into the living room wearing my clothes. Even more than before I felt protectiveness well up within me and my only thought was that no matter what, I had to keep her safe. I also wanted desperately to take the fear out of her eyes, so I said "You aren't fired, you don't have anything to worry about." Finally, she had spoke, stammering out how sorry she was. In response, I'd just opened up my arms and said

"It's okay. C'mere."

She had walked into my arms and I'd wrapped her in a hug. Then she had started sobbing. I took a step back and sat down on the couch without letting go. She'd sobbed for what felt like hours while I gently rubbed her head and back, much like I'm doing now. I remember that at the time I felt completely overwhelmed. I hate to see a woman crying. I will do almost anything to make it stop. But for some reason, I knew that she needed to get it out, so I just held her and told her that she was safe and it was going to be okay. She ended up falling asleep in my arms and I sat there holding her for a long time before I went to bed.

As I continue to stroke her, my heart rate is starting to slow down a little. I must have handled the Diary incident okay if what she remembers now is that she's never thought that I'd hurt her. Although I don't know if she really remembers what she was like that night. It makes me angry that anyone could ever hurt her and it makes me sad to think that even subconsciously she could have thought it could be me. Everything I'd done had been based on instinct. I didn't know what she was dealing with, but what I knew then and what I know now is that I have a primal need to protect her. We never really discussed that night but our relationship was different after that. From the Christmas after Rosslyn, I had known that I needed her, but after the Diary incident, I felt like she needed me too.

I don't remember any incidents after the Diary up until this evening. Over the years we had our share of disagreements, but nothing sticks out. Even when she finally got fed up with feeling stagnant and had quit her job as my assistant there hadn't been a major fight. Just distance and an incredible feeling of loss.

That brings me back to the present. In the years since we became intimate, there has been an on-going joke about physical punishment. Occasionally, one of us will threaten to spank the other for some small offense. It's never been a serious threat, but I would never have even joked about it if I'd known her history. It's never seemed to bother her. In fact, she has playfully smacked my ass more than once. I have never done it to her. We had tried a little "naughty catholic school girl" role play on our honeymoon. When the time came, she'd draped herself across my lap seemingly without hesitation, but I hadn't been able to spank her. The thought of actually hitting her turned my stomach. Instead, I'd found something more entertaining to do with my hand. After she'd come down off her high, she'd looked back over her shoulder at me, laughed, and said she'd be sure to be naughty more often.

Maybe it is a testimony to how safe she feels with me that she can "play" like that, but honestly I'm not sure how comforting I find it tonight. I stroke her hair gently, place a kiss on the top of her head and try to stop shaking. It's going to be a long night.


	3. Discussion 1

Donna stirs in my arms. Sleepily, she says, "You're shaking. Are you okay?" The irony is not lost on me. I'm shaking because I'm worried about her.

"I'm not quite over what happened in the office earlier." I tell her honestly. She sighs and sits up. Then she turns on the light on her nightstand. The room takes a soft glow. It's good to see her face. She looks at me carefully then says:

"You're feeling helpless because you couldn't protect me before you even knew me and you are feeling guilty for every time that you ever raised your voice to me."

"Yeah- pretty much." She's so smart. She hesitates a moment. Then says "It probably wasn't as bad as you are imagining. Do you think specifics will help you deal with this or make it worse?"

"I don't know. I have some questions that I don't know if I really want you to answer. The only way I'd feel better is if I completely misinterpreted what you said in my office earlier. But you already said he left bruises, so that doesn't seem likely. I don't want you to relive anything in an attempt to make me feel better. But it's probably better for me to know the truth, right?"

She gives me her beautiful smile and says. "I'm okay. I did talk to my therapist a little about this after Gaza. You know how therapists feel about talking about things."

She takes a deep breath.

"First, I want you to know, its not like he beat me up. He didn't punch me in the face or throw me down stairs or anything like that. I wasn't "a battered wife." Helen and I have been doing a lot of work on the Anti-Violence Against Women Act and we've seen a lot of pictures and we've read a lot of stories."

Ah, well, I'm no Stanley but I think I may know what triggered the scene in my office. She goes on-

"Those pictures, those stories. That wasn't me. He didn't use his fists on me. He never slapped me in the face. I mean, he loved me. He was just trying to teach me the right way to take care of him. He was just old fashioned. He wanted a perfect life and he wanted me to be a perfect wife."

I really don't like how this sounds. She's making excuses for him and she's made it a point to tell me twice that he didn't punch her. Does she think that's the only thing that qualifies as abuse? There are a lot of ways of hurting people. Even if he'd never left a bruise, getting her to drop out of college and put him through school then dumping her qualifies in my book. She's making it sound like he didn't do anything wrong but given her reaction earlier, I know something happened.

"How old were you when you started dating him?"

"Nineteen. He was twenty-six."

She was still a teenager! How could anyone think she was ready to be a wife? And why would anyone think that you need to teach your wife how to be a good one? And how would you even do that? I have a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm sure I'm not going to like the answers to these questions.

"I wasn't very good at the homemaking thing. He told me _exactly_ how he wanted things, but I was a slow learner. I made a lot of mistakes. When he found out that I had screwed something up, he'd say-

'Donna, I swear to God, I'm going to teach you a lesson!' Then he'd grab my arm and march me into the bedroom."

Oh. Something clicks when she says "Donna, I swear to God, . . ." Earlier in my office she'd said that was the trigger and I hadn't understood. When she'd first come into my office yelling, I had responded roughly. I had started to say 'Donna, I swear to God, I'm going to get this bill passed.' But I'd only gotten half way before I saw her reaction. Later, she said that whenever he said it, she usually ended up with bruises. I will never use that phrase again. Her arms are crossed in front of her and she's subconsciously rubbing her upper arm with the opposite hand. I have an idea where he left bruises. I stroke her arm gently.

"What happened after he marched you into the bedroom?"

"He would teach me a lesson. He said he just wanted me to learn how to be a good wife before we got married, but I was a slow learner."

She's said she was a slower learner twice now and I know for a fact that's not true. What I think she's really saying is that she had a lot of "lessons" with him. I take her hand and softly rub the top of it. I need some physical contact with her. I hope its okay. I really hate to ask this but we need to get this out in the open.

"How would he teach you a lesson?"

She pauses for a second then squeezes my hand. "I'll give you an example. I was supposed to take care of all the bills. One time I forgot to mail the payment for his credit card. He went to lunch with the attending physician and his credit card was declined at the hospital cafeteria. He was so embarrassed. It was all my fault." She's paused again. Her hand is shaking. I really hate asking her these questions. "What did he do?"

"I was sitting in a chair reading when he got home. He grabbed my arm and hauled me out of the chair. He was so mad." Her voice changes, she's imitating him-

" 'Donna, I swear to God, I'm going to teach you to pay the bills on time.' He marched me into the bedroom, bent me over the bed and pulled my pajama pants down." She takes a breath. "It was just a spanking." She shutters, then says quietly "He used his belt, he always used his belt. I had to call into work the next day. There was no way I could sit in a chair. That was probably the worse time."

I have to fight down the bile that is literally rising, vomiting right now is not going to help her. Just a spanking? No. I can't even. I swallow hard again. I'm still not convinced that I'm not going to throw up. At this point, I'm not sure which of us is shaking more. She scoots over and puts her head on my chest. I'm so glad to be able to wrap my arms around her. It helps a little. I start stroking her head again. That helps a little more. Then she softly says-

"I _always_ pay my bills on time now. But I never did learn how to keep my damn mouth shut or to bring him his coffee the right way."

Not bringing me coffee was taking back control of her life? I really want to vomit. But I'm glad she didn't learn those things. They are part of what make Donna who she is. But how do I tell her that? I have _no idea_ what to say. We hold each other quietly for a little while. She's tracing patterns on my chest with her hand. It's very soothing. But unfortunately there are still some things I need to know, so I break the silence.

"I don't understand. The naughty school girl on our honeymoon, the jokes about spanking? It doesn't bother you?"

She sits up again and looks me directly in the eye. When she answers me, her voice is strong and confident.

"I want to own it. It's empowering to face your fear. Josh, we had been together over 9 years when we got married and in that time you'd never once manhandled me in any way. You were just going to use your hand, and I knew it wouldn't be too hard. And I was right, wasn't I? You couldn't even playfully spank me. I like joking about it because it reminds me that you would never intentionally hurt me. And frankly, I really like what you actually end up doing with your hand when I'm laying across your lap like that."

She goes on- "I almost told you about this on the dinner cruise, on our honeymoon. But, I thought it was behind me and I wasn't sure what to say. 'oh hey, I've known you 9 years but never told you my last long term relationship, the one I left right before I met you was abusive.' Instead I just said 'I have some baggage.'"

"I have one more question."

"Just one?" The fact that she's teasing me is reassuring.

"Why did you leave the campaign and go back to him?"

"I didn't really have enough money to stay. I was trying to figure out what to do- I was seriously considering selling my car. I had left him because I thought he was having an affair. He called and said it was all just a misunderstanding- that he hadn't really cheated on me. And that I should come home so we could talk about getting married."

She didn't leave him because he beat her. She left him because she thought he cheated. But at least she had left him. God. If I had only known. I would have found a way to keep her with me.

"And I felt like I was really doing a good job on the campaign. Everyone seemed to like me. You seemed to find me valuable. So I thought maybe I had learned the things I needed to know to make a relationship work. I had put a lot of years into that relationship maybe I shouldn't give up on it so fast. And my Mom really wanted me to marry a doctor and have some babies." Her Mom is not on my list of favorite people.

"Why did you come back?" She gives the see-I-told-you look. Okay, yes, I had more than just one question.

"We've talked about this before. I really was in a car accident and he really did stop for a beer on the way to get me from the hospital. But, it wasn't just one beer. By the time he got there, I didn't think he was okay to drive. I suggested that I drive him home and he grabbed my arm and said "don't start." I had a moment of clarity. I would never be a priority, and I would never be good enough, and he would never find me valuable. And I missed you so much. Because in just the few weeks I had known you, you found me valuable, and you listened to what I had to say, you taught me so many things. And you never once grabbed my arm and left a bruise. I just realized where I belonged. So I called my brother and he came and got me. And then the next day I drove back to Manchester."

I traced her face with my fingertip. Then I kiss her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her lips very softly.

"I am so glad you came home."

She nestles back into my arms. I think I will be able to sleep. I am married to an amazing woman.


	4. Recollections 2

As I lay there holding Donna gently, another memory floats to my mind. It was our first Easter together. We were visiting her parents. She wanted to make love but she was really uncomfortable about doing it in her parents house. I remember thinking how odd it was when the topic had first come up at Christmas, because she had really not had any problem having sex at my Mom's condo. We were only planning on staying two nights with her parents that year, and she was pregnant and exhausted, so I really hadn't planned on making love anyway. But something about the pregnancy hormones had started and she was conflicted about her own desires. We ended up making love slowly on Saturday night.

But what's running through my head right now, is the conversation we had right before we made love on Sunday morning.

At Sunrise, I had stopped reading a briefing memo to watch the light hit Donna's hair. In my mind, I can still see exactly how she looked that morning. She looked an angel. I let her sleep in as long as possible, but when she started to wake up, I put the memo aside and started to touch her. Running a finger over her arms, and down her side. She sighed soft and rolled onto her back, they way she often does. So I traced my finger along the edge of her pajama bottoms. I placed some feather light kisses across her brow, and on the tip of her nose, and her lips. The way I have a hundred times since that day. She likes how I wake her up, and so do I.

But back then, I was a little more cautious about it. Being in her parents house, I wasn't certain how she'd react. And the pregnancy hormones made everything even less certain.

Now that I'm thinking about it, I have almost perfect recall of what happened.

"Are we going to have a repeat of last night?" She asked me with soft eyes. She looked like she wanted to, but I wanted to be sure.

 _"It's okay with me. But I don't want you to be uncomfortable._ "

Something flicked in her eyes. If I hadn't been staring into them I would have missed it. I ran my fingers lightly over her face. Then asked her-

 _"Do you want to tell me what makes you uncomfortable about this?"_

She hesitated, uncertainty in her eyes. But she started to speak softly.

 _"Even though we had an apartment, Dr. Freeride liked to stay overnight here sometimes. I think he knew it bothered my parents that we weren't married, and I think he really liked screwing me with them just downstairs. It was a power trip or something."_

 _"I'm surprised your parents let you stay in the same room."_

 _"Oh, they didn't. He'd sneak in after they went to bed. I'd beg him to just wait until we were home or at least be quiet but it seemed like his goal was to make me scream. He once told me that he liked banging me in my little girl room because it was cute to see me blush and avoid eye contact with my Dad at breakfast."_

I remember being angry, but not wanting her to see it. I placed a gentle kiss on her lips then rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling.

No wonder having sex in her old bedroom was stressful. At the time, I thought what he did sounded like dubious consent to me. I considered getting dressed, taking my agents and driving to his house right then. I'm not violent by nature, but I considered beating the crap out of him after hearing that. I already knew he didn't respect her, but ignoring her requests with regard to sex is practically rape.

I swallow hard. With what I know now, I'd definitely call it rape. It was a pattern of abuse. It's a really good thing we aren't in the same city right now.

Ironically, at the time I had figured that was probably why she wouldn't tell me his name. Now I know it's much worse than that. It's an odd thing, because I'm pretty sure that she knows that I have his information, but she refuses to be the one to tell me. It's like some line that she won't cross. I wonder if someday she will tell me. And I wonder what I'll do if she does.

I'm drawn back to the present by Donna's voice. I recognize her saying the same thing to me now as she did back then.

"Josh . . . " Her voice is still soft but it's got some renewed strength. "I don't want to think about him in here. Make love to me, if you don't he wins."

What an amazing woman. I roll back towards her. I place gentle kisses on her face, gentle hands on her skin. I've made her scream in pleasure plenty of times but that's not my goal right now. This is going to be soft and slow, peaceful, healing. Not sex with some gomer, making love with her husband.

My fingers gently trace her face. Then I pull the blanket off of us. I want to see what I do to her. I run a finger lightly down her arm and watch goose bumps appear. She is so responsive to me. We both smile softly at each other. There is a thin band of exposed skin between her t-shirt and the pair of boxes she wore to bed, so I run my finger gently across it and she sighs.

"You are amazing" I whisper, "you are the most amazing woman I've ever met." I capture her mouth in a deep kiss.

Neither of us is going to be thinking of any one else for the rest of the night.


	5. Discussion 2

"I'm sorry! Please stop!" Donna's cries wake me up. She's trembling in her sleep. When she cries out again, saying the same thing, I realize I've heard her say this before. Even though it's been a year, everything she said when she was delusional during Lulu's birth is burned into my memory. At the time, I had thought she was apologizing for vomiting, which made no sense. Now I realize that she's just been conditioned to apologize when something causes her pain.

She must be having a nightmare. I wonder at the horror she might be re-living and I can't stop the sob that erupts from me, but I cover my mouth with my hand so she can't hear me.

With tears rolling down my face, I somehow manage to pull myself together enough to run my hand over her hair and gently whisper in her ear. "You're okay. You're safe. It's just a dream." That seems to help. She doesn't wake up, and she settles back into a deep sleep after a few minutes. Just to be sure, I sit in bed watching her for an hour. After I'm convinced the nightmare is over, I finally get up and get on the treadmill. I need to do something physical.

Once I'm out of the shower, I settle on the couch with my coffee and some briefing memos. As I'm skimming through them, I'm listening for either of my girls to wake up.

About a half hour later, I hear Donna in the kitchen pouring herself some coffee, so I put the memo down. She joins me, sitting down silently in the chair across the coffee table. She observes me over her coffee cup for a few minutes. Then she sighs a bit. "You still have questions."

I do. I can't help it. All morning they've been rolling through my mind. The extra hard run didn't chase them away. The extra hot shower didn't scald them away. Compulsively checking on Donna and Lulu didn't ease them. But I feel guilty, somehow, asking. I don't want to keep putting her through these memories, just to help me sort it out.

She reads my mind and raises one eyebrow. "It's okay. I want you to ask your questions." She shrugs, "There's no use trying to put it back in the box now anyway. It's better if we talk about it."

I blurt out the thing that has me stumped. "Why didn't you leave him the first time?" Her flinch is like a knife to my heart. But she recovers quickly and meets my eyes unwaveringly.

"Well, I suppose that is the twenty-four thousand dollar question. Isn't it?" The corners of her mouth turn up a little. She's trying to keep this light, but I'm still fighting off waves of emotion: anger, sadness, hurt. I don't know if I can keep it light.

"You think I never wondered that myself?" She muses, not really expecting a response. "It's a little hard to explain, because more than a decade later, it sounds incomprehensible."

She takes a deep breath and smiles at me sadly, "I didn't leave the first time because I consented."

This time is my turn to flinch. "Whaaaa?" She holds her hand up and I pause.

"I was barley 20 years old. We'd been dating about 6 months and living together about a month. We had a big fight. Our first really big fight. I hadn't made dinner. He was hungry. I was mad that he had left the bathroom a mess. In hindsight nothing major, but it was a lot of yelling. When it was over, he said he didn't think it was going to work out. He wanted someone who would eventually be his wife in a more _traditional_ arrangement. He'd work. His wife would cook and clean and raise the kids. I can still remember exactly what he said.

 _You're behaving like a child. It doesn't make me think of you like a wife, it makes me want to turn you over my knee and give you a good spanking._

So I apologized, told him I loved him. Said that I wanted to be his wife someday. That I wanted to make this work. That I'd do anything to make it work. I really did think that I loved him. I didn't want to end it over something silly like him not cleaning up after himself in the bathroom.

He stared at me for a few minutes, like he was really thinking about it. Deciding if I was worth the trouble. Then he walked over to our bed, sat down on it, and said "c _ome here,"_ while he patted his knee.

I knew what he meant right away. My Dad had done the exact same thing when I got in trouble as a kid."

She shrugs her shoulders a bit and gives me a little sardonic half smile. "So I walked over to him. And I let him turn me over his knee. And I let him pull down my panties. And I let him blister my ass. He wasn't playing around. He really let me have it. But when he was done he was actually pretty gentle in the way he held me while I sobbed. And he whispered how much he hated to do that and how much he hoped I'd behave in the future. And then he told me I'd be a good wife someday. And I believed him. . . . I was so naïve."

Oh my god. She thinks it's her fault. She feels guilty that he beat her. I'm not sure what to say. But while I'm trying to come up with a response, she continues with her story.

"I was "good," she uses air quotes, "for a while. It was a few months before it happened again. I don't remember what caused it that time. But by then I had already dropped out of school. I had made my choice between him and my education. After that, for awhile, the punishments were more frequent, and he started using his belt every time. He always said he was teaching me a lesson. He'd say that if I acted like a spoiled brat, I got treated like a spoiled brat. But that someday I'd be ready to be a wife. The spankings hurt, but they really weren't any worse than what I had got as a kid. And afterwards, he'd tell me that he forgave me. And he'd be extra sweet for awhile. And he was good at the make up sex."

She mumbles the last bit, embarrassed, but she seems resolved to just get it all out there. So she takes a deep breath and continues.

"I guess I was learning how to be a good wife, for the most part, because after a couple years, I didn't get punished as often. But when he did punish me, it was a lot more severe. Sometimes, when he was really angry, I was scared he'd do more than spank me. But he only ever took his anger out on my ass. I think he really believed that as long it was just spanking, it wasn't abuse. And honestly, for years I thought the same thing. But the last few times were so violent, I stopped believing that. And that's part of the reason why I left him. Those times are the ones burned into my memory."

She shudders and ticks them off with her fingers as she lists them. "The time with the credit card bill, The time I accused him of cheating on me, The time I took an extra shift and forgot about a hospital fundraiser, and the time I thought I was pregnant."

Hearing all of this has been difficult, but the last comment has me gasping for air.

"You thought you were pregnant?" It barely comes out. Lulu probably would not be here if Donna had Dr. Freeride's child.

"I was a week late. So I bought a pregnancy test. I left it on the bathroom counter because you're suppose to take it in the morning. He'd gone out for drinks after work with some colleagues. He came home late. He was angry when he saw the test. He woke me up ranting. He said it was the worst possible time to have a child. Hadn't I been taking birth control? How could I be so stupid? When he took his belt off, I couldn't believe it. Even if the timing wasn't perfect, I thought the plan had always been to get married and have a family. I just sat there staring at him until he said " _Well? Are you going to take your punishment or are you moving out_?"

There's no half smile as she looks up at me. "I can't explain it, Josh. I don't know why I got up and bent over the bed and took it. I know I should have left right then." She hangs her head shamefully and I barely hear her whisper, "I started my period the next day."

I swallow hard as the question crosses my mind- did she start her period or did she have a miscarriage? It makes me want to vomit. I don't understand any of this, but how on earth could he beat her when she might have been carrying his child? Seeing her hanging her head, like she did something wrong, propels me off the couch. I pull her up out of her chair and wrap my arms around her. While she cries softly against my shoulder, I try to reassure her.

"You didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't your fault! It was abuse. He groomed you for it. But you got away. You built a new life for yourself. You won. You're an amazing woman. I am so proud of you."

She stops crying after a few minutes. But I just hold her and stroke her head, while I try to will my own tears to stop. We sit back down on the couch. And I'm quiet, waiting to see if she has more she needs to say. I still don't completely understand what happened when she left and went back to him for a few weeks, but I hate to ask that question again. It turns out I don't have to ask.

"It was a few months after the pregnancy scare that I accused him of cheating on me. That's the last time he beat me. I packed all my stuff into my car and drove to New Hampshire. I can tell you, I felt every mile." She gives a hallow little laugh. My stomach rolls over. I bet she was still bruised when I met her.

"But after a few weeks he started turning on the charm to try to get me back. And when he said he was ready to marry me, I just thought things would be different. But when I got back he didn't propose, and he didn't much want to talk about getting married. And after the car accident, the way he grabbed my arm in the hospital scared me. If I had gone home with him that night, I'm pretty sure I know what would have happened."

She pauses and takes a deep breath. "Did you know that on average an abused woman leaves her abuser 7 times before it becomes permanent?"

"Yeah, I read that recently."

"That means I'm better than average!"

"You are so far above average!" I give her a squeeze.

When we hear Lulu happily babbling to herself in the nursery, we both give a little chuckle and pull apart, wiping our eyes.

"Do you want me to?" I gesture towards Lulu's room.

"No. I think I need to hold my baby for a bit."

"Okay." As she heads towards Lulu, I head into the bathroom, where I finally throw up.


	6. The Resolution

When I finish in the bathroom, I brush my teeth and make my way back to the nursery. Donna is sitting in the yellow rocker, reading a story while Lulu pats her face.

I lean against the door jam listening to the end of the story.

 _"_ _Ronald," said Elizabeth, "your clothes are really pretty and your hair is very neat. You look like a real prince, but you are a bum." They didn't get married after all._

Ah! The Paper Bag Princess. One of the many girl power books we received for Lulu during the baby shower.

Donna closes the book and looks Lulu in the face. "Some men are bums, Lulu, but if you're patient, you'll find a good one. I promise."

Then she looks up and spots me. "Look, baby doll, there's one now."

"Hey, Lulu." I call out and she turns and throws her arms toward me.

"Da-dee!" She responds. God, I love that sound. I want to scoop her up, but I don't want to take her from Donna.

The chair is big enough for all of us, if we smush together.

"Can I join you?"

Donna scoots over and pats the seat next to her, so I sit down, then she turns and slides back over so that she's half on my lap. I pull her the rest of the way and wrap my arms around both of them. We just hold each other and rock for a little while until Lulu starts fussing a little.

"She's hungry."

"Should we have some pancakes sweetheart?"

"Yes, cakes!"

Donna gets up out of the chair, and takes Lulu towards the kitchen. I follow behind. Donna gets her into the high chair, while I pull out the pancake mix and start to mix it up.

"Lulu, do you want some blueberries?" I hear Donna ask, like it's just another day. Like the world hasn't shifted on it's axis.

"Yes, Mama."

"Here you go."

"Tank you."

"You're welcome."

Breakfast is close to our normal Saturday morning routine. Except that I have this inner turmoil. It's an unease. Even though on the outside my life looks the same as it did 24 hours ago, I suddenly have this knowledge that I don't know what to do with.

I have three strong emotions competing for prominence, trying to drive my next actions.

I'm sad. Sad that Donna suffered, Sad that I didn't help her sooner, Sad that there are people like Dr. Freeride in the world.

I'm angry. I want to find him and kill him. That simple. He deserves to die a slow painful death. When I manage to beat back that thought for a minute other ways of hurting him creep in. I already make sure he's audited on a regular basis. Maybe I should check into his licensing. Maybe I should let his wife know that he's cheated. Maybe I should check up on his kids.

But the emotion that keeps pushing through is pride.

Looking at Donna, I see a strong woman. A woman who stood up for herself. Who found the internal strength to put aside years of being held back from her potential and say "no more." A brave woman, who put everything she owned in her car and drove 1,000 miles to change her life. A tenatious woman who found a purpose and held on to it with both hands, who found a way to make her self invaluable to a whole administration. A smart woman, who when she realized that she needed a change again, walked away even though it was painful.

Truthfully, I want her to need me as much as I need her. But I'm incredibly proud that she doesn't. She can face whatever life throws at her. She will overcome, and what's more, she'll find a way to make something useful out of it.

Yes, I'm filled with pride. I think that's the emotion that I need to hold on to.

"Earth to Josh. . ." My beautiful wife is smiling at me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Are you going in to the office today?"

"Yeah, Matt and I are meeting at 9."

"AVAWA?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to have him sign it?"

And we're back to where we started from. The First Lady wants him to sign the bill, Donna wants him to sign the bill. Hell, I want him to sign the bill. I just want it to be a better bill.

"Of course I want him to sign the Anti-Violence Against Women Act. We've been waiting to get the final version and hoping it was ready before the Mid-terms. You and Helen did some great work in your meetings with the House Democratic Women's Caucus. But the Senate version added some things for their base that really weren't that great. Not just the regular pork barrel buffet. There are some parental notification laws that could undermine the safety of shelters, and some record keeping requirements for tax-exemption that could lessen a victim's right to privacy."

"But if he doesn't sign it, won't that be worse? The Mid-terms are in less than two weeks. They'll be running ads about how the President wasn't willing to sign a law protecting women. No one will report the nuances."

"Of course. If he doesn't sign it, it will diminish his influence in the Mid-terms and it'll probably come back to bite him in the re-elect. Not to mention that it will put all the Congressmen who signed it in a position where they have to distance themselves from the White House."

"So what do we do?"

"What do you think we should do?"

"I think he signs this bill, and then the four of us get back to work on lobbying for a better version, hopefully we keep the House and take back the Senate, and then we replace this bill as quickly as we can. You know we rarely get a perfect bill. Let's not throw the baby out with the bath water."

"Yes. That's basically where Matt and I ended it last night. You know, you're getting really good at this." She grins at me, always glad to have my sincere praise. I hope I give her enough. "Will you come to the White House with me? I don't want to leave the two of you here this morning."

"Josh, I'm okay."

" _I'm_ not. _Please_. I know sometimes you guys get bored, but I need my girls nearby."

"Okay, Joshua, we'll come with you. I'll get Lulu cleaned up."

As I'm clearing the breakfast dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, I start to wonder if Donna has told Helen any of this, and if so, whether she told Matt. How many people know Donna's secret? And does Donna want to keep it that way? It's a powerful story. Would she want to testify in front of Congress? Would I want her to? It's really not my call, I'll do everything I can to support her no matter what.

"So," I ask as we slide into the car, "have you told Helen about Dr. Freeride?"

"No. I've never told anyone before last night."

"Your parents don't know?"

"I don't think so. I've never told them. At first my Mom was really, really excited for the idea of me marrying a doctor. Especially after I quit school. But by the end, I think they were at least a little relieved that we broke up. They didn't like that he never actually got around to marrying me."

"Bella? Your brothers?"

"Bella commented about it once. She teased me for squirming through a family dinner. She said it was obvious that I was having a hard time sitting comfortably and that if we were going to do kinky things, it would probably be a good idea not to do them right before visiting the folks. I didn't tell her what had really happened. It was easier just to let her think it was just a game. And if I had told my brothers, they would have killed him. And for a long time I really thought I wanted to marry him, so having him dead wasn't really going to work out with that. And once I finally left him, I just wanted to forget. To move on with my life."

"So why not tell Helen? You've been working so hard on this legislation. Surely you know that she'd understand."

"I've considered it. But it's kind of hard to bring up. None of the stories sound like mine. I don't want to compare myself to women who have gone through so much worse! And honestly, I feel a little stupid about staying with him so long. It's sort of embarrassing."

"You have nothing to feel stupid about. You'd never say that to any of the survivors you've read about, would you?"

"No, of course not."

"Well, I'm sure the Santoses would never say that about you. But it's your story to tell, when you're ready, to whomever you chose to tell. I just want you to know. I'm with you. I'm proud of you. I think you are the bravest, smartest woman I've ever met. I'm glad you are Lulu's Mom."

"Thanks, Honey. Maybe I will tell Helen. I need to practice a little, because someday I want to tell Anna, and Carly, and Miranda, and Molly, and Lulu. I don't want them to ever fall into the trap I fell into. I want them to know there is someone they can talk to. That they don't have to feel ashamed or embarrassed. And I want them to know that even if they make mistakes, they are strong enough to leave a bad situation and start over."

I can see her resolve and strength. What happened in my office yesterday was an aberration. She really has moved beyond her past. With a little time and her help, I'll be able to as well.

I lean over and give her a kiss. My amazing, beautiful wife. How on earth I got so lucky, I have no idea.


End file.
